


Happiness At the End of A Nekker Nest

by valiantlybold



Series: sing me a song [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armor, Armor Kink, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Begging, Breathplay, Choking, Come Eating, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Monster of the Week, One Big Happy Family, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Witcher Contracts, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, witchers calling jaskier pup because apparently thats my kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: When a big hunt comes along, it's more than Geralt can take on his own. Luckily, he's got a husband and two brothers to help him out.And once the hunt's done, there's plenty of time to have fun.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: sing me a song [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603039
Comments: 26
Kudos: 825





	Happiness At the End of A Nekker Nest

**Author's Note:**

> bruh

As usual, the Witchers are arguing. Gods only know what they’re arguing about, but at least they haven’t yet resorted to wrestling on the ground like little boys.

It’s very clearly upsetting the whole village; Jaskier can see as much, as soon as he returns with the alderman he was asked to go find.

“Oh, no, please don’t let there be trouble,” the alderman says, pleading to Jaskier. “We can’t have the Witchers fighting _each other_ when there’s a whole nest of monsters in them woods!”

The bard takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “No need to worry, alderman,” Jaskier tells him. “I’ll sort them out.”

“Sir, no! You’ll get yourself killed getting between them!” the alderman argues, taking Jaskier by the arm to stop him.

“Eh. It’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, the alderman lets him go. While the whole village watches on, Jaskier hurries over to the gaggle of Witchers. They’re so busy, they don’t even notice Jaskier approaching, which is really saying something when it’s _three Witchers._

Jaskier walks right up and takes Geralt and Eskel by the ear, just like Vesemir showed him how to do. The two of them hiss, shoulders bunching up at the sting of pain.

“I don’t have three hands, so _Eskel,_ take Lambert by the ear,” the bard says sharply.

Eskel whines but does as he’s told. He takes Lambert at the ear and he reacts the same way as the others did.

“Tell me, Geralt, what were you talking about?”

“About the nest!” Geralt replies raptly. “How to handle it!”

Jaskier hums. “And _why,_ exactly, did this conversation resort to raised voices, Eskel?”

_“We disagreed!”_

Jaskier sighs. “Disagreeing is all well and good, my dear Witchers, _but_ raising your voices and scaring the good people of this village who only want to go about their lives safely? _Not okay.”_

“Sorry, Jaskier!” Geralt is first to say.

“Sorry!” Lambert shouts too, and then Eskel says it as well.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen, my three dear little Witchers. _You_ are all going to be very, _very_ careful about your volumes in the future, but for now, you will be _silent_ while the very nice and polite alderman tells us all the details of this contract, which is so extensive that it requires not one, but _three_ Witchers. Understood?”

 _“Understood!”_ all the Witchers reply, almost in unison too.

“Good.”

Jaskier releases them, and Eskel does the same to Lambert. The boys hang their heads, just like a bunch of scolded school boys. Jaskier turns to the alderman and waves him over.

It’s a nest of nekkers, the Witchers determine from the alderman’s descriptions. Apparently, they have taken control of very nearly the whole forest, and have already caused casualties for the village. They discuss the reward for a moment; the alderman swiftly agrees to give them all the coin he can scrape together from the villagers, as well as food and rooms at the inn for as long as they wish to stay and stabling for their horses for just as long. He leaves them to it, then.

“How many do you think it is?” Jaskier asks the Witchers.

Eskel hums. “If they’ve really taken almost the whole forest, there’s got to be hundreds of them.”

Lambert nods. “Probably been nesting in these woods for years. Runnin’ low on food, decided the villagers were their new cattle.”

“If we split up, attack from three sides, we can drive them deeper into the forest,” Geralt suggests. “Have them lead us right to the nest.”

“If we get to the nest and kill the queen, it’s just a matter of killing off the stragglers,” Jaskier agrees.

That makes Geralt stop.

He turns fully towards the bard, a very familiar furrow in his brow. _“We?”_ he repeats. “You think _you’re_ going to help?”

Jaskier scoff. _“Think?”_ he repeats right back. “I don’t _think_ anything, Geralt. I _am_ going to help. And if you have an issue with that, then you are very welcome to be the one waiting helplessly in the inn while the rest of us run headlong into danger.”

Well, that certainly shuts Geralt up, while the other two watch silently.

Geralt lets out a deep sigh but appears to resign himself.

They unload their horses and go to the inn, where they take some time to prepare themselves. Jaskier changes into his armor. He lets his medallion come out from where it always hides under his chemise. He fastens his daggers to his belt, and prepares his throwing knives.

Geralt growls behind him.

Jaskier smiles as he turns around. He remembers _exactly_ what this does to Geralt.

“Something wrong, Witcher?” the bard asks pointedly.

He gets a shadow of a smirk, pointed canines bared for the slightest moment. “I want to rip you out of that armor and _take you_ right now.”

Jaskier’s smile widens. “Maybe once we get back. _If_ you behave yourself. And maybe I’ll let your brothers have a turn too. If _they_ behave themselves.”

Geralt is still so damn fast. He’s glued up against Jaskier’s back in just the blink of an eye, nosing up his neck, hands on the bard’s hips to keep him close.

“As long as you remember who you belong to.”

Jaskier bites his lip. Geralt’s scent us damn near _erotic._ He smells like lust and hunger, and it takes everything Jaskier has in him to tear himself away from him.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” he decides as he picks up his bow and quiver.

Geralt growls behind him again, but follows.

*

Lambert lays out the map on the ground. They kneel around it.

“I’ll be over here. Eskel, on this side, and Jaskier, you stay here,” Lambert directs, pointing out their positions on the map. “Geralt, you’re the fastest so you’ll go around and approach from the far side.”

“I’m faster than Geralt,” Jaskier pipes up. “It’ll take the far side. Geralt should be here, and Eskel, here.”

“Hate to admit, but he’s right,” Geralt mutters. “He’s gotten quick.”

Eskel chuckles. “Like one of the pups. They’re always fastest at the start.”

Lambert grins. “I remember those days,” he says, then reaches over and pats Jaskier heavily on the back. “Just you wait, pup. It’ll pass. You’ll find the rhythm soon enough.”

Jaskier has to smile. “Well, guess I’ll have to enjoy it while it lasts,” he says. “Either way, I’m fastest, so I’ll take the far side. So, what’s the rest of the plan?”

The Witchers focus back on the map and the task at hand.

“We’ll go on foot. It should take us only a handful of minutes to get around the forest. Jaskier, you’ve got the furthest to go, so we’ll use you as a time limit,” Lambert carries on. “When you’re ready at your position, send up a flare and we’ll move in.”

Eskel nods and hums. “Kill as many as you can. First to reach the nest, give the queen a shot. If it doesn’t work out, wait for one of the others and we’ll try it together. Jaskier, you’re not very experienced, so you should try to hang back. Stay away from the nest.”

Geralt nods as well. “I agree.”

The bard sighs. He doesn’t have a good argument against that. It’s true, he doesn’t have as much experience as the Witchers do. He’s never even fought _nekkers_ before. He can’t argue very well on this matter.

He agrees.

*

When he runs, Jaskier feels the best he has in a long time.

He can’t explain it. He just feels...alive.

The night is dark and cold, but Jaskier can see as well as if it were the middle of the day and he doesn’t feel cold at all. In fact, he feels like he used to when he had to cuddle up to Geralt to stay warm in the night; like there’s a furnace under his skin, keeping him fire-hot. Is this how Witchers feel all the time?

He reaches the far side of the forest. He waits another minute, catching his breath, then sends up the flare.

A trail of red sparks crosses the sky. As the arch reaches its apex, it explodes; the sparks block out the stars, filling the world with red light.

He readies his bow, nocking an arrow, then sets off past the treeline.

The light and noise of the flare certainly drew attention. Nekkers spring out of the dirt at Jaskier’s feet, screeching something foul. He looses arrows in quick succession and never stops running.

In the distance, he hears sounds of fighting; Geralt’s voice, Lambert’s voice, Eskel’s voice, backed by the howling of the nekkers.

The little beasties fall out of the trees at him; the bite into him but his armor takes the worst of it. He rips them loose one after the other and throws them down, stomping them out like cockroaches. He slings the bow over his body when he runs out of arrows, drawing his knives instead. Steel blades with silver details; effective on both men and monsters.

Before he knows it, he’s out of knives too, so he draws his daggers. He bought himself an extra set not long ago; now he has two silvers, and two steels. He takes a silver in either hand, steel would be little use here.

It’s hard to fight the little bastards because, well, _they’re little._ Barely as tall as Jaskier’s knees, most of them. Luckily, a well-placed kick can crack their skulls open, which is an advantage. He get in a good few kicks and knees even while he’s running, slashing at the rest of them with the blades.

_“Jaskier!”_

He runs towards the call of his name; Eskel’s voice, it was Eskel’s voice. Why was Eskel calling for him?

He can soon see why, though.

Eskel is fighting the nekker queen. He’s holding it off, keeping her back, but the swarm of her foot-soldiers makes it impossible for him to strike a killing blow.

But Jaskier comes from its blind side.

And he knows they told him he shouldn’t attempt to take on the queen, but there’s no choice now.

He throws himself at the mangled, ugly body of the queen, a shout leaving him as he drives his blades into the damn thing’s head.

It screeches and cries under him, blood spurts and gushes like a fountain.

But then, it seizes, body jerking and twitching, and it collapses.

Despite the queen dying, though, the night isn’t over.

The nekkers still swarm. There’s going to be a rough few hours ahead of them, but they’ll make it trough. Jaskier knows, they’ll make it through.

*

They shuffle into the inn together. By some miracle, they’re all largely unharmed. A few bites and scratches each, but nothing too bad, at least.

The inn, which also functions as the tavern, is packed full of people. It appears the whole village has gathered to await the triumphant return of the Witchers. Jaskier makes a mental note to work _that_ into the song.

Lambert drops the queen’s head on the alderman’s table. “We’ll comb the forest again tomorrow. Kill off the stragglers. But the queen is dead. She won’t be spawning any more of them.”

The alderman stands up, though he looks like he’s about to throw up. He thanks them with a shaking voice and hands over a pouch of coins. It’s small, but for a village of this size, it’s probably more than they could have hoped for. And at least they have food and beds promised to them, so there’s always that.

And Geralt seems to remember that fact _very_ vividly as well.

He leans in towards Jaskier as Lambert and Eskel talk with the alderman.

“Did I behave myself?”

A warm thrill runs up Jaskier’s spine, forming a grin on his face. “I think you did well enough.”

“Hm. Then you shouldn’t keep your husband waiting, lark. My patience is wearing thin.”

The word _husband_ floods Jaskier’s already boiling body with even more heat.

They don’t say it, they don’t talk about it, they go on as they always have, they almost pretend it never happened; but it did, and they’ve got the marks to prove it. They are married. Geralt is Jaskier’s husband.

“Then rip me out of my armor,” Jaskier whispers back. “-and _take me_ like you said you would.”

He doesn’t have to hear the growl to know what that does to Geralt.

Jaskier walks away. He moves easily through the crowd to the stairs, and he knows Geralt isn’t far behind.

The door slams behind Jaskier only moments after he finds their room, and Geralt is on him in the blink of an eye. His mouth goes to Jaskier’s neck, ignoring the flecks of dried nekker blood. Jaskier has to laugh as Geralt’s hands went to the straps and clasps and laces, how they fumble with them, how he mouths desperately against Jaskier’s neck.

 _“I want you,”_ Geralt grunts. “I want you so bad, I wanna feel you under me, I wanna be _inside you.”_

Despite laughing, Jaskier’s hands fumble too, tripping over himself and Geralt. “Go on, take me, feel me, I want you,” he moans.

His spaulders come loose, falling to the floor, and the chest piece loosens too and they drag it over his head and throw it aside. Jaskier shoves his trousers down, hands wrapped in leather gloves feel amazing as they take hold of his hips, and he feels how hard Geralt is when he grinds against Jaskier’s ass, and he is pushed to move until they fall over the creaking bed. Gods, Geralt feels so good on top of him, and _fuck, where did that oil come from,_ he wonders absently as he feels the liquid drizzle over his ass.

Two fingers breach into him and he cries out; it feels so good, he loves this feeling. He claws at the sheets and the mattress as Geralt fingers him open, and feels the man’s hot breaths on his back even through his shirt.

“So beautiful,” Geralt rumbles over him. “So tight and hot and wet for me, feel so good.”

“I want it now, now, please, I want it right now,” Jaskier pants. “I wanna _feel_ it, wanna feel you for days, Geralt, please.”

His eyes roll back in his head as Geralt bites down into his back; fuck, yes, he’s going to have marks _for days,_ even though he heals faster than any normal human, he’ll have them for days and he’ll adore them for as long as they last.

Geralt pulls back. He grunts and spits, then he pushes his cock into Jaskier and the bard quivers under him. _Oh, Gods,_ he’s so tight, he’s still so tight, and Geralt feels so big inside him, it feels like he’s going to be split in half on it, like he’s going to be torn in two, but it’s _so good_ and he loves how _full_ it makes him feel.

“My pretty lark, my sweet little songbird,” Geralt mutters, biting into his back again for a brief moment. “I love you, I love this body, this sweet body wrapped so tight around me, you feel so good for me.”

Jaskier can’t think about anything beyond how good he feels.

Geralt thrusts into him hard, their bodies meeting with a mean impact, the bed rocking against the wall. He cries out and it spurs Geralt on. He grabs onto Jaskier’s hips so tight he’ll have bruises, setting an unforgiving pace. Each brutal push is met with a cry from Jaskier and the noise of the bed frame hitting the wall.

 _“Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Yes!”_ is all the rational speech Jaskier can muster up.

Pleasure-pain zips through his system. It feels like one of Lambert’s flares was set off under his skin and _soon, soon, soon,_ it’s going to reach the apex of its arch and explode. He can feel it shooting up higher and higher and higher, it’s getting so close to the top, he can feel it coming, building inside him.

“Sweet little pup, our sweet little wolf-pup, so young and strong, you take it so well,” Geralt grunts behind him, hitching at every thrust. “Opening for me like this, taking me like this, _fuck,_ I’m gonna put it so deep inside you, you want that, pup? You want it all deep inside you, puppy?”

_“Yes! Yes! Yes! Gimme, gimme, gimme! Yes!”_

“Such a needy boy,” Geralt tells him.

The flare reaches its arch just as he feels Geralt’s hand reach beneath him, taking Jaskier leaking cock in a tight fist. It explodes and fills the world with red light, as Jaskier cums, as he feels Geralt cum into him.

Jaskier is still panting for air when he feels Geralt pull out and climb off of the bed. He rolls over on his side to watch. Geralt removes his armor with practiced motions, a smug, satisfied grin on his stupid, handsome face.

“I’m going to get some food,” Geralt tells him. “I’ll send up one of the others.”

A smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips. “Lovely. Send some wine too. I could use a drink.”

Geralt leaves without further ado.

As he waits, Jaskier shuffles out of the rest of his armor and clothes.

He reaches down now and then, to feel over his hole. The lazy dribble of Geralt’s cum makes him feel all loose and soft and floaty, _and hungry._ He wants more.

Lucky for him, it isn’t long before Lambert comes upstairs. He pours wine for Jaskier, who drinks greedily even as he slides off the bed to his knees. He hands off the mug to Lambert and works open the Witcher’s trousers as the man drinks.

He doesn’t waste time on the preface; he sucks Lambert’s cock like it’s all that keeps him alive. He lets it into his throat, embracing how it feels to choke on it and feel it drip precum down his gullet. He gets him nice and wet, as messy and he knows Lambert likes it to be; he likes to watch Jaskier turn into a mess for him, watch him drool like an over-eager whore, watch him take it like it’s his only purpose in life.

“C’mon, pup,” Lambert tells him gruffly, grabbing him by the hair, dragging him off his cock. “Get me outta this armor and I’ll give it to ya proper.”

Jaskier pants and stumbles to his feet, his dick-drunk brain zeroing in on what he’s been told to do. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t care. He works on one side while Lambert works on the other. They manage to get him out of it, almost ripping its buckles loose as they do it.

Lambert grabs him by the throat, hand slipping slightly in the drool that reached as far as that. Jaskier moans at the tight hold as he’s pushed onto the bed, laid out on his back. His legs spread, like it were a reflex.

“Geralt had it right, didn’t he?” Lambert mutters, his other hand getting his trousers pushed down. _“Needy_ lil’ thing. Cock-hungry like I never seen, worse than any whore I ever met. Aren’t you?”

 _“Yes,”_ Jaskier wheezes.

His hands go out blindly, grabbing at the Witcher’s clothes, pulling him in.

_“Please!”_

He moans like he’s in heaven, when he finally feels another cock entering him. And Gods, Lambert’s just a little thicker than Geralt, he makes the _full_ feeling come back again, makes him feel like he’s being filled up for the first time all over. He lets out a hitching cry as Lambert’s heavy hand slaps him across the face.

“Naughty lil’ pup, ain’t ya? It’s all you can do to stay sane when you haven’t got a cock in you, ain’t it?”

Jaskier nods as best as he can. The hold on his throat is a little lighter, just enough to hold him in place but not suffocate him. But Gods, he can’t make words at all now.

The bed rocks again, it hit the wall and Jaskier might be a musician but this is the _sweetest_ music that he has ever heard; the creaking of the frame is in perfect harmony with every deep, deep, deep thrust that fills him. He loves it, he loves it, _he loves it._

He clings to Lambert, claws at his back, heels digging into the man as Jaskier’s legs wrap around him.

Another slap crosses his face, beating a desperate moan out of him.

“Geralt ought’a put a leash on you, pup, keep you from strayin’, going nosin’ around anyone with a dick to stick in ya,” Lambert mutters at him, which only makes Jaskier digs his nails in harder.

The Witcher hisses, though the slight pain seems to throw fuel on the fire.

“You’re a _dirty_ lil’ thing, ain’t ya? Bet you’d go downstairs and spread these legs for just about anyone willin’ to take you for a ride.”

Jaskier writhes. He finds one hand straying to Lambert’s wrist, gripping it tight, begging the hand to squeeze his throat. And it does. It goes _tight_ around his throat and he feels the blood struggling to reach his head and the air fighting to fill his lungs.

Lambert pounds into him, he fucks into him hard and mean, gives it to him deep, and it’s like there’s a giant drum sitting in his chest, beating out a heavy rhythm that kicks him out of his own head. He’s _floating,_ he’s _flying,_ he’s _soaring_ through the sky like he never has before.

Cumming is like a punch in the face.

Pain radiates through his cheek, and something tells him Lambert slapped him again, and pleasure _burns_ in his gut, and _it feels perfect._ He smiles when he feels wetness hitting his face, because he knows what it is, and he licks his lips and tastes salty bitterness.

He wrenches his eyes open, smiling wider when he sees Lambert kneeling over him, cock in hand, still stroking out the last of it; a few more drips land across Jaskier’s face, and he lets himself enjoy the feeling of it.

“You alright, love?” Lambert asks after a few moments.

Gods, when did Jaskier close his eyes again? He manages to open them again, though; Lambert’s shuffling around the room. He pours them some more wine.

Jaskier hums, still rolling in pleasure, licking his lips for another taste. _“Perfect,”_ he says, his voice already going hoarse.

He must be getting bruises on all over this neck, he must be covered in them.

Lambert helps him sit up, helps him get a steady grip of a mug and Jaskier drinks greedily again, parched like he's been walking through a desert.

“You want Eskel now, or you wanna take a break first?” Lambert asks. “I could go get ya some food?”

Jaskier shakes his head even as he drinks. “No. No, I want my Eskel now,” he says once he's emptied the mug, heaving for breath again. “Don’t wanna leave him out.”

He reaches out for Lambert, who leans into the groggy touch. Jaskier pets his face and grins like a loon.

“My little Witcher boys,” he hums to himself. “My pretty boys…”

Lambert smiles. “I’ll send him up, then,” he says.

He gets up. He moves the pitcher of wine over onto the side-table by the bed for Jaskier, then leaves.

Jaskier pours himself another mug. Fuck, this wine is good.

Eskel comes into the room only moments later. He smiles at Jaskier, and Jaskier smiles back. But Eskel doesn’t join him right away. No, he frowns at the mess Lambert left on the floor, and lets out a sigh.

“All these years and I’m still cleaning up after those idiots,” he says to himself. “And _you,_ pup, get a pass on this one.”

Jaskier laughs. He gets himself comfortable in bed, and watches.

Eskel shuffles around the room for a few minutes; he gathers up Lambert’s discarded armor into a pile, and does the same to Jaskier’s, then double checks that no ones piece’s have gotten mixed in with another’s set. Then, he removes his own armor, making a pile of his own and not just tossing them on the floor.

Once he is finished, undressed and naked as the day he was born, he finally joins Jaskier.

He crawls into bed, moving up the bard’s body. He lays kisses on Jaskier’s skin, starting at his shins. Jaskier hums as the kisses move up along his thighs. A slow lick drags along his softened cock, then the kisses continue upwards. They move up his stomach and his chest, along his neck, until their lips meet. It’s a lazy kiss, which only last for a few moments.

Jaskier smiles, and feels Lambert’s cum slowly run down his cheeks.

Eskel takes the mug from his hand, taking a long drink. Once he’s set the mug away, he returns his focus to Jaskier.

The bard moans when Eskel’s tongue runs over his face, when he feels it gather up all the cum that Lambert dirtied him with.

“Still cleaning up their messes,” Eskel says when he pauses to swallow, making Jaskier smile again.

Jaskier hums. “I think Geralt left a mess somewhere else too.”

Eskel grins at him. “Oh? Why don’t you show me? I’ll clean it right up for you, pup.”

“Lay down, and I’ll show you.”

Eskel does as he’s asked. He lays down and gets comfortable. Jaskier climbs over him, grinning when Eskel makes a soft noise of approval. First, Eskel licks at his thighs and cheeks, lapping up what has spilled from inside him. And then, with the Witcher’s hands on his hips, Jaskier sits himself down, a Witcher’s jaw a perfect seat for him.

He leans his elbows back onto the headboard and enjoys the ride. He moans as he feels Eskel’s tongue breach into him.

Eskel’s always been good with that, he’s always been good with his mouth for as long as Jaskier’s known him. He knows how to put it to use, too.

And this feels amazing, after Geralt and Lambert. After their urgent, hungry roughness, Eskel’s slow gentleness is exactly what he needs. Eskel isn’t always like this, he can be just as dumb and horny as the rest of them, but tonight, he knows exactly what Jaskier needs in order to wind down from both the hunting and the fucking.

He eats Jaskier out as though he’s luxuriating in it, eating up every inch of him. He moans under Jaskier, and the bard need only cast a glance downward to see how it affects the Witcher.

“C’mon, Eskel, darling,” Jaskier moans.

Eskel releases him. He lets Jaskier move, and the bard lays down beside the Witcher. Eskel cuddles up close behind him, wrapping around him. He slides his cock home in Jaskier and the bard only lays there and enjoys it.

He bites his lip and moans at the pace Eskel sets. Again, he luxuriates. He takes his time and enjoys every push and pull. His hands roam all over Jaskier, while his mouth worries more bruises onto his back.

Unlike with Geralt and Lambert, the pleasure builds slowly this time. He feels it well up from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. Eskel still reaches so deep inside him. His cock may be thinner than the others, but he’s got at least a good inch on them when it comes to length, and he uses it well. Gods, Jaskier can swear he almost feels it in his throat; or maybe that’s just the leftover burn from how Lambert used him. Either way, he loves it.

Jaskier cums unexpectedly, when the building pleasure suddenly overwhelms him. The orgasm quakes through him and he claws at Eskel for grounding. Eskel wraps his arms tighter around Jaskier, hushing him softly, rocking into him to ease Jaskier through it.

“That’s it, pup,” he mutters. “That’s a good pup. Just a little more for me, alright? Just a little more.”

 _“Mh, Eskel,”_ Jaskier pants.

The Witcher picks up a little speed, as if wanting to get it over with to leave Jaskier in peace, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. He allows himself to melt into the bed, into Eskel’s arms, and revels in the thrumming waves of aftershocks.

Thankfully, though, Eskel pulls out when he cums, spilling himself over the bard’s thighs. It’d be a bother to clean up anything other than that. The Witcher pants into Jaskier’s back for a handful of moments, then presses a kiss to him and gets up.

“You should come downstairs,” he says as he finds a rag to clean them with. “Get some food in you. You need it.”

Jaskier hum, rolling over onto his chest. Eskel kneels back on the bed, dragging the cloth over Jaskier’s ass and thighs, wiping him down. Jaskier sits up, then, though his body feels incredibly relaxed and sluggish. He loves that feeling after sex. He hopes it lasts at least until he can fall asleep later. He wobbles as he stands up, but finds his footing in a moment.

Eskel comes around with some fresh clothes.

Jaskier laughs when he looks at the man.

“What is it?” the Witcher asks, confused.

Jaskier leans him. He runs his tongue along Eskel’s jaw, following that handsome, gnarled scar all the way up almost to his eye. He tastes cum there. Must have dripped from Jaskier’s hole, when he sat on that lovely face.

“Nothing at all,” he says then, smiling still.

Eskel chuckles, shaking his head.

They dress themselves and head downstairs.

Geralt and Lambert sit at a table in the corner of the tavern. There are still plenty of people from the village there too, despite the late hour. They seem to pretend the Witchers don’t exist at all. Jaskier doesn’t care. He and Eskel sit down with the others, Jaskier of course picking the seat nearest to Geralt. In only a few moments, the barkeep hurries over with two plates and mugs of ale, which they are happy to dig into, while the other two have already finished their meals.

“I hear you killed the queen,” Geralt says as Jaskier eats.

The bard smiles as he chews. Geralt snorts. He leans in and places a kiss on Jaskier’s head.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he adds.

Jaskier is more than alright.

He’s got clothes on his back, food on his table, his husband at his side, two dear friends with him, and plenty of material for new songs.

Jaskier is much more than just alright.

Jaskier is _happy._


End file.
